The Room Mate
by im-not-actually-gay
Summary: When a 15 year old John Watson is accepted at St. Bart's Boarding School, he meets the isolated and intriguing Sherlock Holmes, who seems determined to close himself off from the world. A teen!lock fanfic. Rated M for sexual content, just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Apologies if this chapter is a bit boring, it's the necessary introductory stuff. It will (hopefully) get better further in to the story. This will be my first and probably my only teenlock fic so it's a long one. Please leave a review, any comments you have will be helpful! ^.^  
**

**Chapter 1**

"You'll be fine, John. Trust me."

"But everyone here knows each other already, it's way more difficult to join on your own."

15 year old John Watson sat in the passenger seat of his mum's car, which was parked outside the biggest school he had ever seen, St. Bart's Boarding School. He was joining a year after everyone else because his parents had finally earnt enough money to send him to a 'proper' school, like they had always wanted. His palms were sweaty and he already felt homesick.

"The people here are going to be much nicer than they were at your old school. Yes, it will take time but you'll soon find people that you trust," His mother smiled at him, "you know, you're going to have to get out of this car at some point, don't want to be late on your first day."

"No, course not, right."

John took a deep breath and got his luggage out of the car. They were soon greeted by a rather old man, wearing small round spectacles

"Good morning, you must be John," the man said with cold eyes.

"Yeah, hello," John said awkwardly, feeling already unwelcome.

"And, you are his mother?" the man asked, shaking his mum's hand.

"Yes, hello."

"I am the school's headmaster, Mr. Coleman, but you are to call me sir. Pleasure to finally meet you both. Now, I'm afraid we have an assembly starting shortly that John will need to attend, so you will have to say your goodbyes now."

"Right," his mum pulled him in to a hug, kissing him multiple times all over the face.

"_Mum!_"

"Sorry, I'm just going to miss you! Now, e-mail me to let me know how you're settling in, and be on your best behaviour, and take care of yourself."

"Got it, don't worry. I'll be fine," he lied.

"Okay, well, bye love."

With one final kiss, his mum got in to her car and drove off, and John suddenly felt panic.

"If you could bring your luggage in to the entrance it will be taken up to your dormitory and I shall escort you to the assembly hall."

Without a word, John followed the man, struggling to carry all of his bags up the stairs and feeling like a bit of an idiot.

"You may drop your bags there," the headmaster said, "if you would like to follow me."

John walked along side the man through many of the school's amazing corridors, admiring the statues and paintings that decorated them.

"Now, John," Mr. Coleman began, "all students are to share dormitories with the student they were placed with in their first year, as always. You are fortunate, however, that there is a vacancy in one of the rooms currently containing only one student. You are to wait outside these doors after the assembly to be escorted to your room, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The rest of the school were now swarming in the corridors, all entering the great hall that he was standing outside of. The headmaster had abandoned him, and now feeling extremely uneasy John followed the crowd in to hall, waiting until almost everyone was seated with their friends to sit at the very back of the room. There was a lot of loud chatter that died down as soon as Mr. Coleman stood at the podium. He cleared his throat.

"Welcome, students and staff, to another year of education. I hope that the work rate and morale of each and every one of you remains as excellent as it has been in previous years. I trust you all had eventful holidays, but now it is time to get back to learning, and as always I will refresh the rules for you all as some - select few-" he stared pointedly at a student sitting at the front, "seem to have forgotten our policies in the past. Firstly, uniform is to be worn during lesson hours, and is to be worn correctly. No electronic devices are to be displayed during lessons, and if they are they will be confiscated until the end of the week. All students are to be in their dormitories by 10 o'clock, and lights are to be out at half past, no excuses. You will arrive at 9 o'clock to your first lesson each morning and if you fail to do so you will be given a detention. Smoking and alcohol, for obvious reasons, is forbidden, and finally, you will treat each member of staff with respect and you will accept the punishments they choose to give you."

The headmaster's voice was extremely drony and dull. John could hear multiple students yawn sarcastically and some quiet sniggering. So, they weren't all perfectly behaved. This relaxed John's mind somewhat.

"As for the dormitory arrangements, you are to be sharing a room with the same person as you have in previous years. I will allow you today to unpack your belongings and have some leisure time to share with your friends, but lessons will begin as usual tomorrow morning," he cleared his throat once more, "now if we could exit, _quietly_, from the back."

There was a sudden burst of chatter throughout the hall. John stood when his row was leading out and waited outside the doors to the hall as he had been instructed. Nobody had really noticed him, which he was thankful for. He didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to himself.

He waited until pretty much all students had gone, and was beginning to feel like he was in the wrong place, when a smart looking young boy addressed him and shook his hand.

"Hello, John, isn't it? My name is Mycroft Holmes, head boy, I will be showing you to your dormitory."

"Nice to meet you."

"If you would like to follow me."

John followed the boy up a couple of flights of stairs and down many corridors. God, it was _so big._

"Now, John, I am afraid I must - warn you. The boy you are to share a room with..he-" Mycroft paused, then gave a chuckle, "well, let's just say there is a reason nobody resides in the same room as him. Don't be alarmed," he quickly said, telling from John's face that he was confused, "he isn't violent or anything of that nature, but he tends to be extremely irritating and somewhat offensive on a regular basis."

"Oh, um, okay."

"I will say no more on the subject, I fear you will understand my meaning once you meet him. Now, you are in room 221B, and since I don't expect you to remember your way just from one walk, I have printed out a map for you."

"Right, thank you."

"Here is your dormitory key, and I trust you will fit in very quickly."

"Okay, thanks again, bye."

"Any major problems with him, just let me know, okay?"

"Yep, got it."

John knocked on the black door of 221B, to no response.

"Um, hello? Is anyone in here?"

Suddenly, a deep voice growled back at him.

"This room is now also yours there is no need to knock."

Shaking all over, John slowly opened the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A boy was sat on his bed, cigarette in one hand, mobile in the other.

"Um, hello."

The boy turned his head and stared at John. He was tall, slim and had a messy black mop of hair. He said nothing, however, just turned his head back to his phone. John closed the door behind him, walked over to the spare bed and sat down, noting that his bags had not yet been brought up for him.

"So, I heard you've been living here alone and I just want to say - sorry- it must be a bit of a pain in the arse to now have to share with a stranger."

The boy lowered his phone and smirked.

"Mycroft told you about me?"

"Um, yeah."

"I imagine he explained how you shouldn't bother trying to make friends with me because of how infuriating I am?"

"Um, sort of."

There was a sudden knock at the door.

"John? It's Mycroft. I have your luggage."

John could have sworn he heard the boy tut.

"Oh, okay, just hold on a sec."

John opened the door for Mycroft, who proceeded to dump John's heavy bags on his bed.

"Thank you."

"Not a problem. Sherlock," he said, inclining his head coldly to the boy.

"Mycroft."

Mycroft looked around the room is disgust. There were stacks of paper and books on every avaliable surface and the curtains were almost fully shut.

"Oh, dear brother how can you possibly live in this state?"

"Wait, w -hold on, you're brothers?" John asked.

"Yes, unfortunately," Sherlock droned.

"We prefer to keep our distance," Mycroft said, "now, I shall let you two get better acquainted."

Mycroft left with a particularly loud slam of the door. John fidgeted awkwardly in the new silence.

"So-?"

"-John, please do not feel the need to attempt conversation. I trust you will make friends on the rugby team but I do prefer to keep to myself, which is probably in your best interest aswell."

"What? Who said anything about rugby?"

"I did. You were on the team at your old comprehensive school."

"Wait, what, how the _hell _did you know that?"

"I didn't know. I noticed."

"What do you mean-"

Sherlock leapt up from the bed before John could finish his sentence and put his cigarette out in an old ashtray.

"I'll leave you to unpack your things, put them wherever you like. Move some of my things if necessary but I ask you not to go looking through it all, I imagine you'll find some of it rather alarming."

And he left John to stand in silence. He waited for a while rethinking what had just happened, thinking about how cold Sherlock's turquoise eyes were and how rugged he looked in his somewhat over-sized shirt and skinny jeans. His voice had been so deep and he spoke every word as if he couldn't care less about what he was saying. John could _definitely_ see why people weren't keen to share a room with him. But how could he have possibly known that John was on the rugby team at his old school? Or that he was planning on doing the same at this school? Mycroft _must _ have given him the information, and that was the only explanation.

Silently he unpacked his stuff. He found it rather convenient that two drawers and an underwear drawer had been left clear, and how the wardrobe was the neatest part of the room, with Sherlock's clothes taking up only half of the rail. Did he specifically leave space for John? That seemed unlikely. Upon his search for clothing space he had accidently pulled out Sherlock's underwear drawer, to find an array of navy and black briefs, all from different designers. Feeling that this was an invasion of privacy, John slammed the drawer shut.

It didn't take long for him to unpack all of his things, it wasn't like he brought any furniture with him. After his bags were emptied, he decided to straighten up the piles of text books and random bits of paper Sherlock had strewn everywhere. The room immediately looked much better.

John heard noise growing louder in the corridors of the student dormitories, all boys, of course, the girls' rooms were in a different building. He checked his watch to see that it was quarter to 6, and John had been briefed in a letter that dinner was to be in the hall at 6 o'clock. To be honest, he was really quite hungry. Deciding that he could follow the other students to the hall, he left room 221B, locking the door behind him.

All the boys were walking through the corridors in small groups, making John feel extremely lonely. A couple of people just pointed at him, knowing he was the 'new kid.' There were only a couple of people willing to actually talk to him.

"You're new, aren't you?" a dark haired boy asked as they walked through the corridor.

"Um, yeah. John Watson."

"Greg, this is Philip," he said, indicating to the boy walking next to him.

"I hear you're stuck sharing with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I wouldn't say 'stuck,' he seems..."

"Like a pretentious wanker?"

"He's not _that_ bad."

Greg sniggered, "wait until you get to know him properly."

"Where is he, by the way? Will he be in the hall?"

"Doubt it," Philip said, "rarely eats dinner, actually I don't even know how he's still alive."

"Nah, he lives off coffee and fags."

John frowned, the more he heard about Sherlock the more sympathetic he became.

"Does he have any friends?"

"Does who have any friends?" A female voice came from behind them. They were in the hall now, grabbing a plate and standing in line for the buffet.

"Sherlock Holmes."

The girl laughed, "jesus christ no, we talk to him now and again and he has a couple of girls trailing after him, but he's far too much of a dick to have any actual friends. Sally Donovan, by the way, you're the new boy?"

"Yeah, hi."

"You settling in okay?"

"Um..yeah, fine."

"You're just saying that, how was he when you met him? Did he do a little analysis?"

"What do you mean?"

The queue was moving fairly quickly, John was talking whilst helping himself to some sausages and mash.

"Sherlock likes to '_deduce' _people, it's what he's known for, the freak. He'll look at you and tell you more about you than you know yourself."

They found seats in the far corner of the room, and John had to almost shout to be heard over the noise.

"And, is that a bad thing?"

"It is when he tells someone their boyfriend or girlfriend is cheating on them."

John scoffed, "is he ever right?"

"He's never bloody been wrong about a thing."

* * *

John finished his dinner in silence whilst the other three chatted about their holidays. He was getting a strange sense of interest in Sherlock, and frankly felt more excited to be living with him than an boring person. After they had eaten, Greg, Philip and him went back up to the dorms.

"What do you have first thing tomorrow?" Philip asked.

"Chemistry," John said, having memorised his timetable for tomorrow.

"I've got that," Greg said, "d'you want me to wait for you in the morning? You know, show you how to get there and stuff."

"Thanks, yeah, that'd be good."

"Well, good luck, John, try not to punch him," he said with a wink, then he and Philip left for the dorm they shared. John twisted the doorknob but it was locked, meaning Sherlock wasn't back from - wherever the hell he went. When he got inside, John went straight to his laptop to e-mail his mum about his first day. He wasn't planning on telling her about Sherlock, because it was pointless, but just so that she wasn't worried. The day had actually been much better than he had expected, and he was feeling pretty optimistic for the first time in a long while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It had been 3 and a half hours since the end of dinner, and Sherlock had not returned. John doubted students at this school were stupid enough to break curfew on the first day back, but lights were supposed to be out by now, so John couldn't help but be a little worried. He was now in a difficult situation. He didn't want to run to a teacher and tell on him, as he would then be not only known as the new kid, but a snitch.

Thankfully, he didn't have to act on his dilemma as the door opened quietly and Sherlock entered. John didn't want to seem like an angry mother, so he decided to keep his questioning as casual as he could.

"So, where have you been?" he asked, kindly.

"Out," Sherlock replied shortly.

"Um..out where?"

"There's a spot on campus that I like to go to to think. Secluded, closed off, much better than up here."

"Do you go there often?"

"Why? Does it bother you?"

"No, it's just that it's half ten and I had no idea where you were."

Sherlock took off his long black coat and flopped on to his bed, pulling his laptop on to his legs.

"Why didn't you tell a teacher? If you cared so much?"

"Because I didn't want you to get in trouble."

There was a silence after this, where both boys just scrolled through their laptops. John had a million questions, but didn't want to bombard Sherlock after he had spent the past year practically on his own.

"You weren't at dinner," John said, and Sherlock's jaw clenched.

"No, I wasn't."

"Did you have lunch?"

"Of course I did," he replied, a little too quickly.

"You're lying."

"And you can tell that, can you?"

"Sherlock, you haven't eaten today-"

"For god sake John stop acting like you care, it really would make living together a lot easier!" Sherlock said angrily, but he soon noticed that his outburst had made John uncomfortable and sighed, "don't you want to get some sleep? It's your first day tomorrow and you'll want to be well rested."

"Um, yeah, are you planning on sleeping tonight?"

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.

"Who have you been talking to?"

"What?"

"You have an unusual amount of concern for the well-being of someone you just met today, someone's obviously told you something about me that's probably untrue but has caused you to feign interest."

"Well, I was talking to a couple of guys in the hall on the way to dinner, and they told me about your - lack of appetite, that's all."

"Was it Greg Lestrade and Philip Anderson by any chance?"

"Wha- how-?"

"Oh god, those two morons. I wouldn't listen to what they have to say if I were you John."

And again, Sherlock got up and left the bedroom before John had the chance to say anything else, he went in to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"If you want to change, do it now. We've only just met I doubt you'll be comfortable undressing in such a close proximity."

"Okay, yeah.."

John got the fleeting impression that it was in fact Sherlock that felt uncomfortable.

The bathroom door opened and Sherlock emerged, dressed in grey jogging bottoms and a plain blue t-shirt that hugged his torso and made John watch the way his muscles flexed beneath it. John brushed his teeth and washed and by the time he returned to the bedroom, Sherlock was already in bed, lights off, but his face was illuminated by the light of his phone. He clambered in to his own bed and was surprised by how comfortable the thing was.

"I have an alarm set for half past 7 so you aren't late for your first lesson," Sherlock announced.

"Okay, thank you."

The two boys sat in silence for a while, with Sherlock still on his phone and John staring up at the ceiling.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"How did you know about me being on the rugby team?"

"I told you, I didn't know, I noticed, just like I noticed that your mother has recently gotten a pay rise from work and how your father has been sent away for military service on multiple occasions."

"What!? How -explain. Now."

Sherlock sighed, "do we have to do this now?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Fine. There were bumps sticking out of your bag when Mycroft brought it in that were clearly the same size and width apart to be the bottoms of rugby shoes, possibly football, but your build and calf muscles say it's more likely rugby. If you have the build of a rugby player and you have brought your boots with you, you're obviously very passionate about the sport and therefore were on the team at your previous school. Clearly because you've brought the boots with you, you want to try out for our school team, not difficult. You have joined a year after everyone else because your parents can finally afford to send you here, and your mother is the one with the job so she's had a pay rise at work recently. I know she is the one who works because earlier today I noticed the top of a medal sticking out of your jacket pocket, and the shape I could see through the pocket said that it's a military medal. Now, you're obviously too young to be involved in military service and you wouldn't keep it on you if it belonged to someone distant like a grandfather, so, father it is. You had it in your pocket for sentimental reasons because you fear you will miss him."

Sherlock barely stopped for breath as he spoke. Jesus, Sally and Greg were right. John cleared his throat.

"Well, that was, amazing."

Sherlock sat bolt upright in his bed, he clearly wasn't tired.

"Really?"

"Of course it was! Really..quite extraordinary."

"Oh...that's not what people usually say."

"Why, what do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

Both boys laughed, and John was suddenly flooded with sadness to think that it was probably the first time Sherlock Holmes had laughed for a long time.

"Well, g'night, Sherlock."

"Good night, John."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

John woke to a horrible beeping sound. Rubbing his face and groaning, he sat up. Sherlock was lying in the other bed, drowsily reaching for his phone on the floor, he turned the alarm off.

"John.." he moaned.

"Mmm?"

"'Kay, you're awake. Just checking."

John managed to drag himself out of bed and went in to the bathroom.

"You getting up?" he called through the open door.

"Mmm, yeah."

Sherlock flung his covers off and clambered out of bed, rubbing his eyes and leaving John to momentarily bask in the glory of the boy's messy hair. In silence they brushed their teeth, washed, and then dressed in separate rooms, again. The uniform was extremely dull. Black blazers bearing the school's logo, black trousers and dark green and black striped ties. John wore his uniform correctly, with his shirt tucked in and tie done all the way up. He looked horrific. Sherlock, however, refused to dress quite so smartly. His shirt was untucked and his tie was sitting rather loosely around his neck.

"Sherlock, what do you have first?"

"Chemistry. Boring."

"Oh, I do too."

"Do you know where the classroom is?"

"Um, no, but Greg said he's wait for me and show me."

"Ah, okay, then."

There was a knock on the door of 221B.

"John? It's Greg! You up?"

"Yeah, hold on."

John went to the door, not before he caught Sherlock's sad expression as he stared at the ground.

"Hi, Greg. Um, change of plan, if that's okay. I think I'm gonna go with Sherlock instead, thanks, though, you've been a big help."

Greg looked from John to Sherlock in surprise.

"Oh! Okay. No problem, mate. You two urr - have fun."

John could have sworn Greg was smirking as he walked away down the corridor.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock asked in genuine surprise.

"Because we're both going to the same place and may as well go together. C'mon. Breakfast."

John meant that as an order rather than a question. Sherlock rolled his eyes but accompanied John to the hall. There were a few whispers from people walking by and John couldn't care less. Sherlock didn't deserve his reputation as a freak and he was going to make him realise that. They arrived in the busy hall and got in the queue. Sherlock avoided eye contact with literally everyone in the room, except John. As he put sausages and egg on to his own plate, he could see Sherlock was not interested. Determined, John picked up a sausage and an egg and plonked them on to Sherlock's plate for him.

"And you'll bloody eat it," he said, jokingly rather than aggressively. As they went to find seats, John heard a voice from the corner of the room.

"John! Over here!"

It was Greg, Philip and Sally, sat in the same seats they were sat in yesterday at dinner. Sherlock noticed and began to back away, but John grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards them.

"C'mon."

The three of them made no snide comments as Sherlock sat down next to John on the same table. Well, they hadn't yet anyway.

"Oh wow, how did you get him to come down here, John?" Sally asked, "you must be pretty good to be able to pull him out of his cave."

"How's the boyfriend, Sally?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Sherlock, _don't._" Greg threatened. Sally and Sherlock merely gave each other daggers from opposite sides of the table. John noticed Sherlock hadn't touched his food, and nudged his thigh under the table. Rolling his eyes yet again, he cut his sausage and took a mouthful. John couldn't help but smile slightly to himself at his achievement.

The conversation at the breakfast table was pleasant enough, mainly because Sherlock kept his sarcastic comments to himself for most of it. At five to nine, the bell rang, and Greg, Sherlock and John headed for chemistry, while Sally and Philip set off for the other building.

* * *

The lessons were about the same level of diffiuclty as they had been in John's old school, but seeing as he had sat with Sherlock for most of them (despite his eye rolling and refusal,) he got quite a bit of help. Well, he basically just copied off him but he understood things far better than he ever did before. Sherlock was such an interesting person, and John struggled to see how he had never had any friends before. It actually felt like a privilege to be accepted by someone who basically hated everyone. He said none of this out loud to Sherlock, though, afraid that it would overwhelm him.

It was 4 o'clock when John arrived back to his dorm. He was desperate to get his uniform off, it was the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever worn. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, but John didn't worry, assuming he'd be in his little spot on campus. He was pretty bored without Sherlock, though, but he didn't really know anyone else well enough to go do something with them.

He had a shower and went on his laptop to kill time, and his heart sank slightly when he knew Sherlock probably wasn't planning on showing up for dinner. When 6 o'clock finally arrived, John headed for the hall. He now remembered the route and set off by himself. Sally, Greg and Philip were sat in their usual spot, but there was no sign of Sherlock, meaning dinner time conversation would be rather plain.

"Alright, John?"

"Yep, fine."

"Guessing you don't know where Sherlock is?"

"Not a clue. Ah well, he'll turn up."

* * *

When John returned from dinner, he was very surprised to see Sherlock sat at his desk, facing away from him with a cigarette in one hand and a mug of black coffee next to him.

"You know you're not actually allowed those, right?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"What, are you gonna tell on me?"

"Well obviously not, but I'm just saying - those things kill you."

"Really? I had no idea."

John smirked, "smart arse."

Sherlock appeared to be doing homework, so John tried his best not to disturb him, even though he really wanted to talk to him.

"Are you ever gonna tell me where this secret hiding spot of yours is?" John asked, unable to bare the silence.

"Well if I tell you it's not much of a secret."

"So, that's where you've been?"

"Why must you know where I am at every waking moment?"

"No - sorry, just curious."

Sherlock tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk, shaking his leg at the same time.

"God, this is _so boring_, why do we need to know about the solar system? Other planets don't concern us so why do teachers feel a need drill our heads with useless trivia that we'll never need," he moaned, "I'm having a shower."

"'Kay."

Sherlock immediately went in to bathroom without looking at John, making him feel slightly useless for not being better company. He wouldn't bring up Sherlock not eating dinner, not again, it would just piss him off further.

Half an hour had passed since Sherlock went in to the bathroom and the shower was still running. John had the nagging feeling that Sherlock didn't want to talk to him. Even when the shower finally turned off he spent another 20 minutes doing god knows what. It was now half 10 and lights were supposed to be out. John didn't particularly care about this rule, but he was really tired, probably because he'd been so bored all day. He knocked on the bathroom door.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"How long d'you reckon you'll be?"

"Why?"

"It's just that - not to be a pain, but I'm quite tired-"

"You want to sleep."

"Um, yeah."

The door immediately opened and Sherlock dashed past him, knocking John's shoulder as he went. John turned around instead of going in to the bathroom.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Sherlock had his head down and was on his phone.

"Yes, why?"

"You seem, a bit pissed off."

"Boredom has a bad effect on me."

He was slowly turning further away from John, keeping his head right down to stare at the screen of his phone.

"Sherlock, why won't you look at me?" John asked in a serious voice.

"No reason. I'm going out."

He quickly made for the door but John beat him to it, putting his hand on the door knob to prevent him from leaving.

"What's going on?"

Sherlock finally looked at John, who could now see a dark, slightly swollen bruise curving from Sherlock's brow bone to the top of his cheekbone, with a deep cut in the center. He slowly shied away from John, looking back down at the floor.

"What happened?" John said in a low voice.

"Nothing, it's nothing. I'm fine."

"It's not nothing, Sherlock, who did that to you?"

"John you've known me for two days, _please _stop acting like you care!"

"Well tough, because I do care!"

"I don't want to do this with you now John, I want to go out."

"It's past curfew-"

"And I really don't care!"

"You aren't going _anywhere_, Sherlock!"

John tried to be subtle when he took his key out of his pocket and locked the door.

"You do realise I have a key as well?"

"That doesn't mean you're getting past me."

"See, this! This is why I can't stand living with people! You all try so hard to be loyal and caring and it's all just an act because you're stuck here. You're just like all the others, thinking you can communicate and that people will open up to you when all they really want is for you to fuck off!"

Feeling extremely hurt -and angry, John simply walked in to the bathroom without another word to Sherlock and closed the door. As he had expected, Sherlock stormed out, probably thinking John had gone in there to cry or something, but in fact as soon as he heard the front door close John ran back out in to the bedroom, grabbed his jacket and put his shoes on, and headed out. He saw the end of a long black coat whip around a corner and began to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

John didn't really know why he was following Sherlock. His plan had actually been to just stay in the bathroom and let him leave, but part of him was eager to find out where this 'hiding place' of Sherlock's was. Also, after seeing the bruise on his face, John felt it was sort of his responsibility now to make sure Sherlock didn't get hurt again. He had forgotten to care about breaking curfew, he just wanted to make sure Sherlock was alright. Sherlock no doubt would not want to see him, so John had to be careful to keep his footsteps light and stay in the shadows of the narrow corridor in which he was tip toeing down .

Sherlock was a couple of meters ahead of him, walking at a brisk pace. His black coat and hair made it difficult for John to stay on target, but he needed to, because he now had no idea where he was or how to get back to the dorm. He followed Sherlock towards the end of the corridor where he stopped at a door, pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked it. John didn't have time to wonder where Sherlock could have possibly gotten the key from, he hurried after him as quietly as he could.

John tried to strike a balance between opening the door quietly and quickly. He had walked in to what appeared to be a cleaning cupboard, filled with mops and a hoover and stuff, and he momentarily wondered where the hell Sherlock could have gone before he spotted a narrow spiral staircase, the doorway of which was subtely hidden by an array of cleaning equipment. He ran down it as fast as he could, forgetting about noise in fear that Sherlock had gotten away.

At the bottom of the short staircase there was another door, which Sherlock had left unlocked for when he returned. The door lead out to the corner of the field at the back of the smaller building. John scanned around for Sherlock, and soon noticed a tall, shadowy figure in a long coat skulking around the edge of the woodland that surrounded the school. John walked to the edge and followed Sherlock on the same path.

When they had reached the very back corner of the field, Sherlock entered the woods. John was not frightened, if anything he felt rather excited to be out this late in the woods. He kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock, who continued to wind his way through the thick trees. John now thought about what he was going to say to him. He was going to find out who hit him and didn't care how long it would take, and he was also going to make it clear to Sherlock that his caring is not an act just because they lived together. Sherlock needed to see that he wasn't a freak, and he wasn't a loser.

With all these thoughts running through his head, John realised that if he cared about Sherlock, surely he should be able to have a some space to call his own? After all, Sherlock had been at the school much longer than John had. No, his determination to discover the hiding place faded. He was going to call out to him but Sherlock stopped walking and leant back on a random tree, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. John didn't think this was the place he usually went to, he was just having a rest. John stepped out from behind a tree and in front of him.

"Sherlock.."

Sherlock showed no sign of surprise or anger, he merely continued to smoke.

"I thought you'd still be in the dorm."

"I need to make sure you're okay."

"John do stop acting like my mother, it's unnecessary-"

"It's not if you're getting beaten up, Sherlock. Look, I'm sorry, if you suddenly feel crowded, or that I'm taking up your personal space and I know you'd rather me not be here. But I am, and you're now my friend -_yes_ Sherlock, a friend, and you're going to have to accept the fact that I genuinely do care."

"Please," he scoffed, "we barely know each other-"

"-that doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and watch you get hurt."

John suddenly smelled something in the air. He'd smelled it before, sort of like strong body odour and smoke.

"That's not a regular cigarette, is it?" he asked, suddenly aware of how Sherlock's cigarette was twisted at the end and was plain white.

"Now, John, before you get all "concerned" again, I don't indulge in this type of cigarette frequently, I'm not going to try and force you to try anything, and I haven't been caught for quite some time. It's merely for relaxation purposes."

John was breathing very heavily. He wasn't going to try and get Sherlock to stop, he wasn't going to lecture him, he was going to be a friend.

"So, you've er, been caught with it before?" he asked, trying to seem casual about the subject.

"With this, no."

"What, with something else?"

Sherlock finished the cigarette and pulled out a can of body spray out of his coat pocket, the scent was beautiful and almost completely erased the smell that had lingered in the air beforehand.

"I was unluckily caught the first time I tried something of a higher strength, but I haven't done anything like that since."

"What, like cocaine?"

Sherlock looked at John with desperation in his eyes.

"Once, but that was last year so don't be too alarmed."

"How come you weren't expelled?"

"It was my brother who caught me and he let me off, but he keeps an eye on me constantly, it's infuriating."

Sherlock was shaking violently, and John thought it best that they both went back inside.

"C'mon, let's head back."

Sherlock nodded and John remained very close to his side as the two of them walked out of the woods and along the field.

"You have to wait until you can file a complaint, by the way," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"Well, it's school policy unfortunately, you have to stay in a new dorm for at least a week until you can file a complaint and they can move you. I won't go out after curfew for the rest of the week - don't want you getting in to trouble-"

"Wait, Sherlock, what are you talking about? You think I want to change dorms?"

"I assume you don't want to remain with someone of my reputation in fear that you'll get hurt as well, not to mention the trouble a drug habit could cause. I told when we met, it's better if I live alone, John."

"And I've told you already that you're my friend and I'm not bloody going anywhere."

He didn't reply but John saw out of the corner of his eye Sherlock smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

When they returned to the dorm, John immediately grabbed the sleeve of Sherlock's coat and pulled him in to the bathroom in order to inspect the injury on his face.

"For God's sake, John, I'm _fine._"

"Shut up and sit down, I just want to take a look at it."

Sherlock perched himself on the edge of the bath. The cut looked a lot worse now than it had looked in the dim light of the bedroom. John cleaned in out and held a cold flannel to the bruise to reduce the swelling.

"So, are you gonna tell me who did this to you?"

"Unimportant."

"I'm not going to run to the teacher and tell on him."

"Well then why do you need to know?"

"I'm just curious."

"You don't know him."

"Well if I don't know him you can tell me his name, can't you?"

Sherlock sighed and went in to the bedroom.

"I'm changing."

"Alright. You're not getting out of this, by the way. You're telling me who it was."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, "you seem very confident about that."

"Oh I am."

John saw Sherlock smirk before closing the door. He stood in the middle of the bathroom, suddenly becoming aware that they were room mates who were getting dressed in separate rooms.

"Sherlock?" he called through the door.

"Yes?"

"Um, is it going to be like this all the time? Us having to change in different rooms?"

There was a pause, "why?" Sherlock sounded tense.

"It's not a big deal, it's just that I'm pretty sure nobody else does it. You know, we're both mature enough - you know what, doesn't matter, forget all of that."

It was gone one o'clock by the time both boys had settled down in bed, but John wasn't tired in the least.

"John.." Sherlock began.

"Yeah?"

"Um, thank you, for what you did today. You know, helping out. It was good of you."

A warmth spread through John as he listened. Sherlock probably hadn't thanked anyone for anything in a long time, and he felt rather special indeed.

"No problem," he said, grinning to himself like a moron, "night, Sherlock."

"Good night."

* * *

John woke the next morning feeling dazed. He lay in bed for a moment, just listening to the soft sound of Sherlock's breathing. It then dawned on him that he shouldn't be listening to that first thing in the morning, he should be hearing the beeping of an alarm. Sitting bolt upright he checked his phone. It was quarter past nine, and their first lesson began 15 minutes ago.

"Shit - Sherlock!" he hissed, jumping out of bed and shaking the sleeping boy gently. He hated to wake him, as Sherlock looked very peaceful and frankly quite cute when he was asleep.

"Mmm, what?"

"Lesson started 15 minutes ago!"

Sherlock laughed sleepily.

"Well we're fucked anyway, we may as well not rush."

John took a deep breath. It was odd how Sherlock could just make him stop worrying about school rules.

"Guess you're right. You do need to get up though."

They got ready at their own pace, accepting the fact that they were going to get a detention. Sherlock's injury looked about the same as it did yesterday, but the cuts had turned more brown and the swelling had reduced.

"You feeling okay? Headache or anything? I've got some paracetamol if you need some."

"I'm fine, don't worry. You're quite good at this, treating people. You should consider becoming a doctor."

John laughed but planted the thought in the back of his mind. Both boys were in the bedroom, still in their pajamas, when Sherlock went to the corner of the room, turned his back to John, and began getting dressed.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you want me to go?"

"No it's um..fine."

John was bloody glad Sherlock was turned away as a huge smile fell on his face. He paused for a moment, staring in admiration of the way Sherlock's back muscles flexed as he moved. He was well built to say he rarely ate, with broad shoulders and a tight waist-

"Don't you want to get dressed, too?" Sherlock asked, snapping John out of his staring.

"Oh right - yeah."

They left at half nine, feeling surprising okay about being half an hour late for English. They arrived at the classroom and Sherlock opened the door staight away without knocking. Naturally, the whole class turned to stare at them. The teacher, whom John did not yet know the name of, turned to stare at them also. She was old and sour faced which didn't make John feel too hopeful.

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, finally decided to grace us with your presence, have you?" she said in a dangerously sweet voice. She was definitely pissed off, "tell me, John, are you aware of the time your lessons begin?"

"Yes."

"Then would you care to tell me why you are so late? I understand far too well that this one-" she glared at Sherlock, "has always had a certain disregard for the rules but as a new student I would definitely expect better."

"_Sorry_," he said in a venomous tone, "we woke up late."

"Evidently, I suggest you be careful, Mr. Watson, that attitude of yours will no doubt get you in to quite some trouble. In fact it has. Detention, both of you. Now sit yourselves down and do try not to cause any more disruption."

Conveniently, there was a double desk at the very back of the room. As Sherlock and John waded their way through the other pupils, there was a considerable amount of whispering and staring, most likely because of Sherlock's face. When they were seated, they caught each other's eye and smiled. The teacher (who was apparently called Miss Whitehall,) continued to drone on about a poem that they had not been there for the reading of.

"Hi, Sherlock," said a sweet voice coming from the desk next to them, John looked to see a girl with mousy brown hair pulled back in to a ponytail, smiling.

"Hello, Molly."

"Would you like me to fill you in? You haven't missed much-"

"No," he replied a little too sharply, Molly looked rather hurt. John kicked his shin under the table, "thank you," he continued, smiling falsely.

"I'm John, by the way," he smiled at her.

"Molly, pleased to meet you." She went back to her work, chewing nervously on her fingernail.

"You really have to work on that," John said in an undertone.

"On what?"

"The being polite thing."

"If you'd known Molly Hooper for as long as I have, you'd be firm with her as well."

* * *

English was the only lesson John had with Sherlock that day, meaning that the rest of the day would be dull. Well, besides John's first rugby practise, which he was extremely nervous about. He arrived in the changing room to find it full of boys that he had never seen before. Some very tall and bulky, others small and scrawny. He changed in the corner without saying a word to anyone, before he was greeted by possibly the tallest lad in the room. He had sandy brown hair and huge muscles.

"You ever played before?" he asked John.

"Um, yeah, I was in the team at my old school."

"Any good?"

"Well, I guess I'm alright." John of course was being modest, for he had been team captain and probably the best player in the school.

"Good, all the players we've got are terrible, it would be nice to finally see some talent. Seb Moran, by the way."

"John Watson." They shook hands firmly, and John noticed that the knuckles on the boy's hand were swollen and bruised, and his stomach dropped in realisation. He wasn't certain that this was the guy who hit Sherlock but he was pretty damn sure nobody else could manage to do that only a couple of days in to term.

"You're in the year above, right?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay." Well that confirmed his suspicion. He wasn't going to act just yet, didn't want to make a scene. He wanted him to admit to it, to give John the perfect ammunition. At least he could now use his anger out on the field.

After warming up, Seb and someone called Tom were made captains and it was up to them to choose their teams.

"Watson," Seb said straight away. John smiled falsely and tilted his head to the side before walking over and standing behind him. The rest of their team was decided slowly and they went straight in to a game. All the other players were pretty crap, it was really only him and Seb that tried, meaning their team won by a landslide. John performed very well, playing almost just as well as Seb. As they were walking back to the changing rooms, and feeling pretty pleased with himself, John decided to begin questioning.

"Ooh, that looks pretty nasty," he began, indicating to Seb's knuckles and pretending that he'd only just noticed them, "how'd that happen?"

He sniffed and tried to look tough, "ah, some guy thought he'd get clever with me, not a big deal."

"Oh, really? Would I know him?"

"Doubt it, he's got no friends, bloody weirdo. Sherlock Holmes, have you heard of him?"

"Um, the name rings a bell, yeah." John clenched his fists at his sides and attempted to restrain himself. He wasn't about to start a fight with someone in his first week. He'd wait, it was just difficult to remain calm. He didn't think he'd hate someone so quickly, he also didn't think he'd make a friend so quickly, and certainly not one he cared about so much.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

John planned to shower before dinner, but when he arrived back at the dorm it was already in use. He sat and waited for Sherlock to get out, and after about ten minutes became too consumed in writing an e-mail to hear the shower turn off. Moments later, the bathroom door opened, and John looked up to see Sherlock frozen in the doorway, with a towel around his waist. The view of Sherlock's toned abdomen only lasted a split second as he closed the door again.

"Sorry Sherlock!"

He wasn't sorry in the slightest.

"You could have told me you were back!"

"Sorry!"

John felt sort of guilty as he knew (but had no idea why) Sherlock was conscious of his body. He had literally no reason to be.

"Um..would you turn around? I don't actually have any clothes in here."

"Yeah, course."

John stood in the corner of the room and turned to face the wall, feeling like a child. He heard the bathroom door open and had to awkwardly listen to Sherlock putting his clothes on, and hating himself for feeling a longing to look.

"Okay, it's fine now."

"You know, you don't have to be so scared about this sort of stuff. I don't mind."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Alright."

"So-?" John said quickly, wanting to change the subject as soon as possible.

"Hmm?"

"Had rugby training today."

"And?"

"Met someone, interesting guy. Seemed pretty talented."

"I did tell you you'd meet people on the rugby team-"

"Seb Moran. D'you know him?"

Sherlock stiffened.

"I do."

"What? What is it?"

"John, I erm..I know I have no right to choose your friends for you and I really don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I do know Sebastian Moran and I know what he is capable of, and I am asking you...not to get involved with him."

"Yeah? Why's that?" John folded his arms and leant back against the wall in a terrible attempt to conceal his smugness.

"He is very temperamental and if you do happen to say the wrong thing to him.."

"He'll punch you in the face?"

John tilted his head to the side and stared at Sherlock in an obvious way.

"Um, not necessarily-"

"Jesus christ Sherlock I asked him and he said that it was him that hit you - were you actually still not going to tell me after all that?!"

"You asked him?"

"He's got bashed up knuckles and I knew how it happened, I just wanted him to confirm it."

"Okay, well, it's over now, so-"

"So, what? You're just gonna forget it happened?"

"John, you really are making a big deal out of this."

"I'm really not. You know what-"

John headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"No - John. Don't."

"I'm not gonna do anything that's gonna get me in trouble, I just want to talk to him."

"_John!_ You'll only make things worse."

"Well - let's see."

He headed down the corridor and was followed by Sherlock, who grabbed his shoulders and spun him round. There faces were inches apart and John's breath hitched in his throat.

"Please."

His voice was so low and his eyes resembled a puppy's.

"Okay, fine. Don't worry, I'll forget it."

"Thank you."

* * *

When John woke the next morning he found a letter had been slipped under the door, with a list of three people that had a detention at half past four. Him, Sherlock and someone called James Moriarty.

John sat on Sherlock's bed and shook him gently to wake him. The boy's aquamarine eyes opened and focused on John, who smiled.

"C'mon. Time to get up."

He groaned and rolled over.

"What time is it?"

"8."

"Well then why did you wake me up? We have loads of time time before lesson begins-"

"Yes but we're having breakfast. Remember, food? That you need to live?"

"You're hilarious. Truly."

John smirked at Sherlock's grumpy little face as he rolled out of bed.

"Oh yeah, we've got detention at half 4 with someone called James."

"Okay."

* * *

John had no lessons with Sherlock that day, so he spent it mainly with Molly Hooper, who was a nice enough girl, although she did ask about Sherlock a lot. It was very odd that John was actually looking forward to detention, mostly because he'd be with Sherlock. Just before half 4 he arrived at Miss Whitehall's classroom and knocked.

"Come in."

John entered to see that nobody else had arrived.

"Ah, John. It looks as though you're the first one here. Sit. You and your classmates will be writing lines while I have a meeting in another classroom. I trust you will behave yourselves."

John nodded as the door opened and Sherlock strutted in, narrowing his eyes at the teacher.

"Holmes. Sit," she hissed at him. Sherlock made to sit next to John but she interrupted.

"No no no I will not have you distracting the other students. You are to sit well away from each other."

They glared at each other and John felt extremely awkward sitting in the middle of them.

"Are you feeling alright, Miss?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well I assume you must be feeling rather down about something recently, most likely the fact that you haven't had a relationship in three years but it's only just hit you that you may never find love again as you appear to have indulged for comfort over the summer. You have put on 6 pounds since I last saw you."

John snorted and had to strongly resist the tempation to applaud him. She took a deep shuddery breath and looked like she was about to burst in to tears.

"Holmes. The only reason you're still at this school is because your brother is a well respected student and has managed to cover for your behaviour on multiple occasions, but if you _insist_ on degrading and insulting the staff at the school you will find yourself expelled!" she then lost it, "I HAVE PUT UP WITH YOUR REMARKS FOR FAR TOO LONG AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT THIS YEAR! DETENTION TOMORROW! AND IF YOU CONTINUE TO BEHAVE LIKE AN IGNORANT PRETENTIOUS CHILD THEN I SHALL GIVE YOU A DETENTION EVERY DAY UNTIL YOU LEARN SOME MANNERS!"

Sherlock was not phased by any of this. He merely blinked at her and sat down. It was then that the door opened again and a young boy stolled in, wearing an expensive looking black shirt and jeans. He said nothing as he found a seat in the back corner of the classroom and sat down.

"Oh how nice of you to join us, James."

The boy didn't even look at the teacher as she addressed him.

"Right, the three of you will be writing lines, and as the three of you are here for the same reason you can all right the same thing. I would like 100 lines of the following, 'I will arrive on time to class everyday,' written on lined paper when I return. If this task is not completed then you will come back tomorrow until it is done."

She handed out paper before leaving the room.

"Bloody hell Sherlock, that was brilliant!"

"She deserved it. She's never liked me."

"I wonder why."

Sherlock came over and sat down next to John.

"You do realise that if she comes in and sees you next to me, the flesh will melt off her face."

"A risk I am prepared to take."

James said nothing, he just wrote.

"Do you know him?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"He's in the year above us. I have never spoken to him but I do know that he's Sebastian Moran's room mate."

"Should we talk to him?"

"You can try."

"Um..hi!" he called across the room. The boy looked up. He had the same expression on his face that Sherlock often wore, totally uninterested with eyebrows raised.

"I wouldn't talk if I were you, Johnny boy, you'll get us all in to trouble," he spoke in an Irish drawl, like he meant everything he just said sarcastically.

"You don't seem like the type of person who'd care," Sherlock said.

"Oh, you're rather clever."

"I don't believe we've met. Sher-"

"-lock Holmes. I do know who you are, what with you being the genius of the school and all that. You've got yourself a reputation, Sherly. I'd be careful."

He then pulled out his phone and started to type.

"Don't you want to get this over and done with?" John asked.

"Oh, I have."

"What?"

The door opened and Moran came in. John edged closer to Sherlock and was prepared to beat the living shit out of him if he tried anything.

"Ready to go, Jim?"

James got up to leave.

"Watson? What're you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing? I have detention."

"No, I mean, with _him,_ are you two like - friends?"

"Yes, we are. He's my room mate."

"Your room mate? But you said you didn't know him."

"I never said that. And I'd appreciate it if you left us alone."

Jim was watching the conversation with disinterest, and John could feel Sherlock tense up next to him. Moran looked pissed off and began walking towards them. Both John and Sherlock stood up but before anything could happen, but Jim grabbed Moran's arm.

"Oh Seb just forget it, it's a lot less effort. They're the best of pals and let's just leave it at that. Don't forget we've got work to do."

Moran took a deep breath and retrained himself as he looked at Jim, who had a glint in his deep brown eyes.

"I swear Holmes if you try anything clever again-"

"Don't bother with any threats I don't plan to come in to contact with you if I can help it."

"Well that's going to be a problem, isn't it Sherlock?" Jim said, with a faint smile.

"What do you mean?"

Jim put his hands in his pockets and stared at them, the corner of his mouth curving.

"See you round, Sherly."

And the two of them left before he could reply.

"What the hell just happened?"

Sherlock walked over to Jim's desk and looked down at the piece of paper.

"What the-"

"What?"

John walked over to see 100 lines had been written in perfectly neat handwriting in less than 2 minutes.

"He planned it," Sherlock said, "he knew what she'd make us do and he wrote this in advance. Oh, he's rather good."

"What did he mean, 'that's going to be a problem?'"

"No idea, but it didn't sound good."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sherlock and John hastily scrawled out the rest of their lines before leaving the classroom and heading back to their dorm. As they were walking back, they bumped in to Greg, Philip, Molly and Sally.

"Hey, you two, how was detention?" Greg asked.

"It was - eventful."

"Listen, we're all heading back up to our dorm, want to come? It would mean you have to socialise, Sherlock-"

"Yes, I'm well aware-"

"We'd love to," John said, receiving a glare from Sherlock. The six of them headed up to Greg and Philip's dorm, which was on the floor above 221B. It was quite a bit larger than Sherlock and John's, then again John supposed it was because only 1 person had occupied 221B until now. There was a sofa as well as two beds and two desks, and it didn't smell of weed and coffee. The six of them sat down in various places around the room, with John, Sherlock and Greg on the sofa, Philip on his bed and Molly and Sally sharing Greg's.

"How're you two getting along?" Sally asked, "you know, besides the little domestic. Told you he was a pain in the arse, but I guess you couldn't resist. Don't worry, you're not the first-"

"What?" John asked, "what you think - does everyone think I did that?" John asked, indicating to the fast healing bruise on Sherlock's cheekbone.

"Well, yeah. Didn't you?"

"No! I wouldn't, no it wasn't me."

"Oh..well, there is a growing list of people who'd beat him up so-"

"It's sorted now. Forget it," John said bluntly. Sherlock took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, placing it between his long slender fingers and resting it between his slightly parted lips, inhaling. John mentally shook himself.

"You know you don't have to do that here-" Philip began.

"As always, thank you for your input Anderson."

"You alright with him smoking and that John?"

"Yeah, course. I don't mind it."

"Are you coming to the common room on Friday, Sherlock?" Molly asked.

"I wasn't aware that was happening again. Who managed to get the alcohol this time? I imagine the security on what enters the building would have increased since last year's disaster."

"Mike Stamford's older brother's bringing a few crates tomorrow night, we're helping to carry it up to his dorm."

"Well I wish you the best of luck with that."

"Sorry, what are you talking about?" John asked, feeling totally excluded.

"There's an old common room that the students used to use, but people were sneaking in there in the middle of the night too frequently that the teachers closed it off. It's locked constantly but someone always manages to get the key," Sherlock explained.

"So what, you're having a party?"

"Of sorts."

"What happened last year?"

"Everyone was too drunk and too loud. We got caught but because there was so many of us, the teachers were unable to expell us all."

"Well you're probably the only one who remembers what actually happened, Sherlock," Greg said, "seeing as you didn't drink a single thing."

"Oh but it was rather fun to watch you all slowly spiralling in to intoxication."

"Think you'll be coming this year?"

"Thoughts, John?"

"Well, yeah, sounds good."

"Starts at midnight."

"Excellent."

* * *

Thursday passed quickly for John, as he had double Chemistry and Maths with Sherlock, who was a massive help and managed to keep the class entertained by correcting and sassing the teachers constantly. Sherlock had another detention tonight, on his own, so John had dinner with Greg and Molly. When the time came a few hours later for Sherlock and John to get ready for bed, they both dressed in a closer proximity than they ever had before. John felt that Sherlock was warming to him and felt more comfortable around him now than when they had met.

"Sherlock?" he asked when they were both in bed.

"Yes?"

"How many people are supposed to be at this common room thing?"

"Put it this way last year you couldn't dance without someone elses armpit in your face."

"Wait, _you_ were dancing?"

"God no, I was observing."

John amused himself for a moment with the mental images of Sherlock doing the macarena, and with that thought, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The students struggled the next day to contain themselves when around teachers. John noticed throughout the day groups of people surrounding Mike Stamford and questioning him about his brother being able to provide alcohol. The teachers suspected nothing, however, as they probably thought the students had learned their lesson last year and wouldn't try anything only 1 week in to term. How mistaken they were.

After dinner, the students of St. Bart's had no intention of getting ready for bed. There were the first years and nerds who refused to get involved, but about half of John's year and half of the year above were putting on makeup and cologne. Sherlock suggested that John wear something he didn't care about, but dressed himself in a tight fitting purple shirt. John had much more of a selection of casual clothes than Sherlock, so he just wore a dark blue t-shirt and jeans.

"Got your key?" Sherlock asked John at midnight.

"Yep."

"Right, then."

They left 221B to join the line of people edging their way down the corridors on their tip toes. It was rather amusing to see everyone being so cautious. John stuck to Sherlock's side as they went down the main staircase and turned left down a small, dark corridor. They arrived at the common room to see that it was already almost full.

The room was huge. All furniture had been pushed against the walls leaving a very large space in the center of the room, and two spiral staircases lead out of it, most likely to toilets. Music was playing, but not too loud, and crates upon crates of beer and spirits were stacked around the room. People had already dived on the alcohol and the noise level was slowly growing.

"Won't the teachers hear us?"

"Don't worry, their chambers are in a different building. There's only prefects and head pupils that sleep over here."

Sherlock stayed with John as he grabbed a can of beer from one of the crates.

"Aren't you gonna have anything?"

"I'm fine."

"Oh come on. This coming from the guy who does drugs and smokes."

"I'm not keen on the flavour."

"It's nice! Okay, just try one. One, Sherlock, for me?"

John took Sherlock's eye rolling as a yes and threw him a can of beer.

"You can go and, _socialise,_ if you'd like," Sherlock said.

"No, I'm good with you. C'mon."

John lead Sherlock over to a sofa that had been placed against the wall in the corner of the room and sat down.

"So, how's the beer?"

"It's um, okay, I guess."

"Shut up, you don't want to admit you like it."

"I don't know about that John, I think I'm going to have to drink the whole thing just to be certain."

John laughed as Sherlock took a big swig of beer. The music was growing louder and the amount of alcohol was reducing at an alarming rate. When Sherlock had finished his first beer (which didn't take long) John got back up to go get more drinks.

"Let's go for something a little more imaginative, shall we?"

"How d'you mean?"

"I'll show you."

Mike's brother had brought all sorts of spirits and things to mix with them. John decided on coke and raspberry vodka for him and Sherlock in the biggest cups he could find, as he didn't want to have to keep getting up. It tasted great, and after a while of inhaling the smoke fumes in the air and drinking, John began to feel slightly tipsy. There was a fight going on in the middle of the room between two guys John didn't know, and there were coupled scattered around snogging. Greg and Molly had joined them and were both slightly tipsy too.

"I'll be back in a second, John. Need the loo."

Sherlock stumbled slightly as he got up and awkwardly waded his way through the crowd of people.

"He'd better hope people aren't doing it in the toilets," Greg sniggered.

"Why, does that happen?"

"Happened last time."

One of the guys who were fighting was then thrown on to the drinks table, which came crashing down along with all the glass bottles that filled it, causing an ear splitting smash. There was a lot of angry yelling at both boys for destroying the precious substances.

"Fuck. We're definitely gonna get caught again," Greg said, but then just burst out laughing.

"Jesus, is he alright?" John asked.

"Who cares?"

John downed the rest of his drink and saw that Sherlock's cup was empty as well, he went back to get the same thing before it all ran out. When he got back to the sofa, Sherlock wasn't back.

"Greg, watch the drinks a sec, would you? Just checking on Sherlock."

"I really don't think he'd appreciate someone checking on him having a piss."

"I'm not just gonna walk in! I'll - just - ugh I'll be back in a minute."

John tried to walk in a straight line and put a lot of effort in to not falling down the spiral staircase. The bathroom door was closed and John pressed his ear to it.

"Look at those cheekbones, I could cut myself slapping that face," a girl's voice said, "but, it appears someone already has."


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter does escalate in to more smutty Johnlock further on in the story ;) Please leave a review! ****  
**

John knew the woman was referring to the mark on Sherlock's very prominent cheekbone, and was thankful that the door was unlocked. He walked in to see Sherlock backed against a wall, and a dark haired girl with her her foot on the edge of the bath, her thigh blocking Sherlock's way. He looked very uncomfortable, which was kind of amusing. Both of them turned to look at John.

"Everything alright, Sherlock?"

"Fine. Everthing's fine. John, this is Irene Adler."

"Pleasure to meet you, John," she winked at him, then lowered her leg off the bath. She was dressed in a short black dress that contrasted with her pale skin and eyes. John was confused, why did he feel jealous? He shouldn't feel jealous. Most guys would congratulate their mate on being with a girl and leave them to it, but he was experiencing an urge to go and tear them apart.

"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked coldly.

"Not at all," she said, "until the next time, Sherlock Holmes."

She grabbed his bum playfully before exiting the bathroom.

"You alright?" John asked.

"Fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason at all. Coming? I got you another drink."

"Yes."

"So, how do you know her?" John asked, trying to sound as though he wasn't in fact jealous, as they headed back down the spiral staricase.

"We met at one of these parties last year."

"And, did she try anything then?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, "no," he lied. John then noticed a red lipstick mark on Sherlock's neck.

"Come here," he said, licking his thumb and wiping it off.

"Ah, thank you."

They rejoined Greg and Molly, who were sat together laughing, new drinks in their hands.

"What took you two so long?" Greg asked, raising an eyebrow, "been having a bit of a snog?"

"What? No-" Sherlock began.

"Well, one of us has," John cut in coldly. Sherlock frowned at him, totally oblivious. They both continued to drink, as they did so, Greg and Molly were sniggering.

"What?" John asked, "what's funny?"

"Nothin'"

The alcohol was definitely taking an effect now, John's vision was beginning to blur and he felt extremely at ease. Sherlock was actually socialising, and laughing, which was odd. John checked his watch to see that it was 2 o'clock in the morning.

"Ugh, I should go back. 1 more drink, though."

As though Sherlock had read his mind, before John could get up, another cup was thrust in to his hand, containing a blood orange liquid. It tasted lovely, and sooner or late John and Sherlock found themselves stumbling around, laughing at things that weren't funny in the slightest, trying to get to the door. They fumbled with the handle before heading out in to the cold, dark corridor. The air was cool and felt nice on John's face. The two of them made their way back up to their dorm. If the teachers found out now, the two of them at least wouldn't get caught red handed. The bedroom was pitch black, but instead of turning the lights on, the two of them flopped on to John's bed and lay there for a moment.

"Sherlock, have you ever had a girlfriend?" John asked.

"No, not really my area."

"Oh? Have you ever had a boyfriend, then?"

"No."

John's head was almost rested on Sherlock's shoulder, they were both pretty drowsy and didn't feel like moving, even though they were extremely close.

"Have you?" Sherlock asked.

"Huh?"

"Have you, ever had a boyfriend?"

"Nope - had a girlfriend at my old school but she was boring so I dumped her."

"Ever the romantic."

Sherlock turned his head and they both looked at each other.

"You ever kissed anyone?" John mumbled.

"Um...no."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Sherlock looked sort of ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed about, he just probably hadn't had the opportunity.

"What about Irene?"

"No, well it didn't really count, she sort of did the kissing for me. I've never really seen the appeal."

"What, in kissing?"

"Yeah, you just, what? Put your tongues in each other's mouths and move your head, what's pleasant about that?"

John chuckled, "no, it's not like that, well not with the right person. It's about intimacy and like, connecting with that person. You don't have to use your tongue-"

"John, the details really are unnecessary."

"What, so you never want to kiss someone?"

"It still doesn't sound appealing."

"Well yeah it doesn't _sound_ appealing, but even just touching lips with someone you really care about.."

John actually had no idea what he was talking about. He had kissed his last girlfriend and it was okay, but he really was trying to sell the concept to Sherlock. It was probably the influence of alcohol and smoke fumes that had gone to his head, but in that moment, lying down with Sherlock, bodies touching and their faces inches apart, all John could think about was kissing him.

"You just need to experience it, Sherlock."

Sherlock's blue eyes were staring directly in to John's.

"Maybe I do..."

And then, as if they could read each other's minds, both boys leant in slowly, not breaking eye contact until their lips met softly. John closed his eyes as adrenaline pumped through him. Sherlock's lips were parted slightly, and John put a little extra pressure in to it. It wasn't stiff or awkward, John's movements were followed by Sherlock's, who was doing surprisingly well to say he was so inexperienced. John rolled over slightly and propped himself up, so that he was leaning over Sherlock, kissing him from above. They both tasted of raspberry vodka, which all in all wasn't a bad thing.

Nobody inserted their tongue, it just wasn't necessary. John felt everything he had just been talking about and surprised himself by how natural it all felt - kissing a boy. After a while John pulled away, staring in to Sherlock's eyes yet again and softly running his thumb over his face. Sherlock's expression was unreadable.

"Still think kissing's unappealing?" John murmured.

"I would if it were with anyone else."

Suddenly, a burst of noise from the corridor interrupted the moment.

"What the hell?"

Both of them stumbled across the room and stuck their heads out of the door. Crowds of students were loudly making their way back to their dorms. John spotted Greg, with Molly leaning on his shoulder laughing hazily.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Got caught, Mr. Coleman came in, it was fuckin hilarious," he slurred.

"Oh, well in that case-"

John hastily closed and locked the door, making out that he and Sherlock hadn't been at the party.

"'M gonna sleep, John, tired," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, sure."

John was a little disappointed that the moment had ended so quickly, but his stomach was still squirming and he struggled to contain his joy over what had just happened. Sherlock fell on to his bed, fully clothed and fell straight asleep. It only just occurred to John that Sherlock hadn't been drunk before, and suddenly felt guilty and wrong and feared that he had taken advantage. He didn't know what would happen between him and Sherlock now, but he'd have to wait till morning to find out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Please review! This is my first Sherlock fanfiction so I'd love any feedback you have :D  
**

**Chapter 10  
**

John's head was throbbing painfully before he could even open his eyes. Someone was banging on the door of 221B.

"Are either of you awake?" Mycroft's sharp voice called.

"Mmm! Hang on," John croaked, before staggering out of bed and answering the door.

"Good morning, John. I can see that you both did infact attend last night's due, no big surprise there."

Sherlock was still sleeping, breathing softly and wrapped up like a baby in the coat that John had put over him.

"Not to be rude, but is there actually a reason that you're here?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "an assembly is being held at 2 o'clock, allowing you both enough time to sober up and shower."

"An assembly, about what?"

"What do you think? The events of last night were as disastrous as they have been in previous years, and yet the students still feel an urge to carry out this ridiculous tradition. I expect the headmaster will want to give you all a little lecture on responsibility and I strongly suggest that you are there."

"Sure, what ever. Bye, Mycroft."

Mycroft glanced pitifully at Sherlock before John closed the door in his face. He knew he had to wake Sherlock, but he didn't want to. Memories of what had happened between them last night came flooding back to him, and he now wondered about how Sherlock would react. He brushed a soft curl out of the boy's face before shaking him gently.

"Sherlock.."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. He frowned, surveying his surroundings.

"Whu- how did I get here?" his voice was croaky also.

"We came back up after the party-? The teachers found out-?"

"They did? Shit.."

"S- Sherlock, do you not remember what happened last night?"

He sat up, frowning at the black coat that had been put on him and gently lifting it off. Watching him get out of bed was like watching Bambi learn how to walk.

"Sherlock-?"

"Mmm?"

"What can you remember from last night?"

He blinked a few times and rubbed his face.

"Well, we went to the party, and drank, and then there was the woman, and then..laughing. 'N that's about it."

John felt like he had just been punched in the gut.

"So, you don't remember coming back here?"

"No, why? Should I?"

"No, no. Just wondering. You can have a shower first, if you want. Mycroft came round and there's an assembly soon so I guess you want to change out of those clothes."

His voice broke as he spoke to the floor. He just really wanted Sherlock to leave the room so could scream in to a pillow or something.

"Right, yes. Shower."

He stumbled in to the bathroom and as soon as the door was shut, John dropped on to the bed and put his face in his hands, restraining himself from crying. He didn't remember. John should have realised that Sherlock wasn't used to drinking, he should have realised that Sherlock didn't really know what he was doing. John had been fully aware of the situation, and despised himself, drunk or not, for taking advantage.

It had seemed so genuine at the time, so amazing, and it hurt that Sherlock didn't even remember it. John had felt so drawn to Sherlock over the past week and couldn't figure out why, and kissing him had made him feel so alive and special and all he wanted was for Sherlock to feel that too, but he didn't. Sober Sherlock probably wasn't interested in John like that in the slightest, so trying something like that again would just freak him out. God he was fucked and all he wanted to do was to leave and scream but he couldn't.

And of _course_ Sherlock remembered Irene Adler. But he had been so uncomfortable with Irene and had been passionate and relaxed and natural with John and none of it was fair. He didn't know what else to do. He left 221B and went upstairs to Greg and Philip's dorm to ask for advice. They wouldn't take the piss out of him, or he hoped not.

"Greg?" he called through the door, "Greg, it's John, are you up?"

"Yeah, coming."

The door opened and Greg was standing there in last night's clothes, hair sticking up and dark circles under his eyes.

"C- could I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure, come in. You alright, mate? You seem a bit panicky."

"Um, not really. Er, last night, when me and Sherlock went back up to the dorm.."

He stopped, rethinking what he was about to say.

"Yes-?"

"Right, yeah. We erm, wait, promise you won't take the piss?"

"Promise."

"Well, we kissed."

"You what!? Jesus, seriously? Wow.." Greg seemed more impressed than shocked, "so, what's the problem?"

"He doesn't remember it happening. I'm blooding freaking out, w- what do I do?"

"Shit. I - I dunno mate. Did you enjoy it?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"No I mean, do you want to take it further?"

"Well, yeah. I really do, but I don't think he does. He was pissed and didn't know what he was doing and I did know what I was doing and I know it was wrong of me but I just wanted to make sure but now I don't know what to do and-"

"John, stop for breath!"

"Help."

"Well I dunno what to do, do I?"

"Should I tell him? I don't want to scare him away."

"John, if you really like him, and I have no idea why that would be, but if you do, you've got to tell him. It's either tell him and never know or don't tell him and then there's no chance of anything happening."

"But what if I tell him and he freaks out?"

"...then you're fucked, I guess."

"What's going on?" a female's voice called from bathroom. Molly came out, hair wet and dressed in an over sized shirt.

"Oh! John, sorry, hi."

"Hi, Molly."

"You okay, John?"

"Yep."

Greg looked as though he was going to burst.

"Him and Sherlock got off," he blurted out, on the verge of laughter.

"Hey, you said you wouldn't take the piss!-"

"Oh my god, really?-"

"We didn't 'get off,' we kissed-"

"A lot-"

"A bit-"

"But you loved it."

"But none of that matters because he doesn't even know it happened!"

"John, calm down. You want some tea?"

Greg scuttled off in to the corner of the room to put the kettle on while John sat on his bed with his head in his hands. Molly sat next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder.

"Are you going to tell him?" Molly asked.

"Um, yeah, I guess I have to, and then pack my stuff."

"Don't say that! You never know, he could like you back."

"But, he won't."

John drank his tea with shaking hands. He was usually very strong emotionally, but ever since meeting Sherlock his moods had been up and down constantly. He wasn't even bothered by the fact that he had just come out as gay, all he was bothered about at this moment in time was Sherlock.

"Thanks, guys, for everything. I guess I'd better go, get it over with. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, mate. Hey, if it goes tits up, you can just pretend you were joking."

"Yeah, yeah I'll do that."

Butterflies returned to his stomach as he made his way back down to 221B, dreading every step he took closer to the boy that would either shoot him down or make him the happiest he had ever been.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for the reviews so far, they really made my day! :)  
**

**Chapter**** 11**

John's knees were shaking as he entered the dorm to find that Sherlock was out of the shower and dressed. He had no idea how to begin the conversation.

"I'm putting the kettle on, do you want a coffee?" he asked with a smile. John enjoyed being the cause of Sherlock's smiling, and telling him what had happened could ruin it all.

"No, thanks I had a brew at Greg's just now."

"Ah, so that's where you were. Are you having a shower? We have assembly at 2 and we need to look like we weren't there last night."

"Right, yeah..."

He stared at his feet frowning and palms sweating like they had done on his first day.

"Sherlock? I- I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"Well, I erm, just thought I should tell you, er.." Sherlock was looking curiously at John, with his bright eyes wide and full of concern, "you know what, it doesn't matter. Forget it."

"Why, what were you going to -John-?"

"-forget it!" he hissed, slamming the door of the bathroom shut and turning the shower straight on, so that he could moan at his failure without being heard. Sherlock had looked at him the way a proper friend would look when you were clearly facing a problem, with concern and care. They had finally reached the point where it wasn't just John questioning Sherlock and treating him like a child, Sherlock actually seemed to care about John as well, and he couldn't risk throwing that away.

* * *

The hot water of the shower calmed him a bit. He stopped to think about how he was going to handle the situation. He felt so strongly about Sherlock, but could do nothing about in fear that it would jeopardise their friendship. He now knew that he was gay. He had been so uncertain for quite some time, always getting confused when he had felt attracted to men, but he accepted it now.

This was such a ridiculous thing to be getting so upset about. It was the type of dilemma you'd see in a chick flick, and he was the love struck little teenager. The manly thing to do would be to just bite the bullet and tell him, but then there was the thing stopping him, the thing Sherlock despised so much, emotion.

He decided that he would much rather have Sherlock in his life as a friend than not at all, even if it did hurt him. It would hurt much more if he had to leave 221B.

The assembly was in half an hour, so John finally got out of the shower and attempted to make himself look a little less hung over. When he entered the bedroom, it was empty. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so sharp with Sherlock, he was only angry at himself. John knew far too well by now that when Sherlock wanted to be alone, it was best to just leave him until he was ready to come back.

Reluctantly, he left the dorm and went down to the hall for the assembly, and braced himself for whatever the headmaster was going to say to them.

"John!" Greg caught up with him in the corridor, "how did it go?"

"Well, I didn't tell him so I guess it went pretty badly."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

"I can't. I can't risk him freaking out about it."

"Mate, I can't believe you're getting this worked up over Sherlock Holmes."

John felt anger at these words as though it was he who had been insulted.

"He's brilliant."

"If you say so."

The other students had done fairly well to make themselves look presentable. They all filed in to the hall and sat down, and Sherlock was not amongst them. At the front of the room, John saw Jim Moriarty and Seb Moran together, looking rugged and tired. If they had been there last night, John hadn't noticed them.

When all the students were seated, the headmaster took his place on the podium, face stern, and cleared his throat.

"Given the situation I do not think it wise to be talking now _settle down!"_

The room immediately fell silent, with almost every student staring in to their lap, knowing that they were about to be told off.

"I am sure that every single one of you in this room is aware of the event that occured last night. This little tradition is something that was created by some of the more wreckless students many years ago, and unfortunately has continued. So I shall begin by apologising to those of you who are not feeling your best at this moment, I imagine the vast amount of alcohol you all managed to pour down your throats is now taking it's affect for the worse. I do understand that it was not all of you. There were an embarrasingly small number of students who had enough sense to not get involved.

The last time this event occured, the staff agreed that it would be unrealistic to track down each student that attended and punish them, but I assure you now the matter will not be taken so lightly..."

He continued to lecture them about the dangers of alcohol and the consequences of their actions, but John was not paying attention. When he finally dismissed them, John headed straight back up to his dorm to check for Sherlock. John's heart sank when he went to open the door and it was locked. The phone signal at the school was usually terrible, but he thought it was worth a try. To his surprise, it had worked, and he could hear the buzzing through the phone that meant it was ringing. It rang twice before the call was declined. John growled and flung his phone across the room, then went straight back out again.

He went to Greg's, as it was all he could think of doing to take his mind off Sherlock. He'd turn up when he wanted to, and John could apologise then.

* * *

"Alright?" Greg asked as he entered the dorm.

"Yep."

"He's buggered off again, hasn't he?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter any more, I'm not going to tell him how I feel anyway. Oh yeah, and neither are you, and don't tell anyone else."

"Fine, fine. Listen, mate, we're all going for a walk, why don't you come? Relax your mind a bit?"

"Yeah, yeah okay."

He, Greg, Molly, Philip and Sally all left the building to have a walk around the lake on campus, which was quite beautiful, and was close to the little stretch of woodland that contained Sherlock's hiding place. It was difficult to stop thinking about him, but after a while, he eased up a bit and realised that the situation wasn't as bad as he had thought.

He ate dinner with the four of them, (Sherlock as usual wasn't at dinner,) and hoped that he would have returned by the time John got back to the dorm. As he was walking back, he glanced down one of the smaller corridors to his right as whilst walking. His stomach flipped horribly as he did a double take, and saw Sherlock and Irene together. But this time Irene was the one with her back to the wall, and Sherlock was commiting to the soft kissing wholeheartedly. Her hands were around his waist, one of his lightly holding her cheek.

John couldn't take it. He stormed away as quickly as his legs could carry him, anger and jealousy bubbling up inside him. He felt so betrayed, even though he and Sherlock weren't together anyway. As he had just proven, Sherlock clearly liked girls. He slammed the door of 221B shut with such force, it caused the entire room to shake. This was torture. He didn't want to see Sherlock, didn't want to face him or speak to him in fear that he would just break down crying. But Sherlock would return, and John was dreading when he did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Umm, I guess there should be a warning here, watch out for smut. It's probably nothing compared to what other people have written but this is my first time writing anything of that nature, so if it's terrible I do apologise. Please continue to leave reviews! Any criticisms or general comments you have would be appreciated! ^.^  
**

**Chapter 12**

A key scraped in the lock of 221B at 9 o'clock, and Sherlock entered the room, expression unreadable. John was on his laptop, and glanced at him before returning his gaze to the screen.

"John, I understand that you were quite upset earlier on today, and I wanted to apologise if I did anything last night that offended you. I am not used to drinking such a large amount and I think I may have lost control a bit."

"Yeah, you did," John said, pushing his laptop away and standing, "and then you forgot what you did and made me feel shitty about doing it."

"John, I don't remember much of last night, so I cannot-"

"And what the _hell _was that?!" John burst, unable to remain calm.

"What was what?"

Sherlock looked genuinely confused and frankly quite frightened, but John didn't care at this moment.

"You, and Irene. What are you playing at!"

"Oh, so you saw that.."

"Yep. So what, you two go out now? And how is it that you're now so comfortable with kissing? That's not what you told me! But then again I didn't count, did I? Because you can't even remember it, but of course you can remember _her!"_

Sherlock was as far away from him as was possible in such a small room.

"Wait, wh- what do you mean, you didn't count?"

"You know what? None of this even matters! I hope you and Irene have fun-"

"John, why are you getting so angry about me and Irene?! Who are _not_ a couple by the way!"

"Because _we_ kissed! Okay? Last night, we came back here, and we kissed! And since I've told you anyway, I may as well say that it was bloody amazing and that I also have feelings for you, which don't matter because you're not interested. And it's just- it hurts me, because it was possibly one of the best moments of my life, and to you it was- just- nothing."

Sherlock was frozen, eyes blank and brows furrowed. John waited in silence for Sherlock to say something, to get angry, to freak out, to do anything. But he merely blinked at John, like there was an error in his brain.

"Sherlock, please say something."

"Wh- umm. So you, do you, er- you're gay?"

"Didn't think you'd put it so bluntly but..yeah. Listen Sherlock, you don't have to do this. I know how awkward it is when someone confesses to you and you have to reject them, so it's fine. Just leave it."

"Why would I reject you?"

"Because you were literally just kissing a girl-"

"Who I am not interested in."

"What? Then why were you kissing her?"

"John, I don't handle, emotional dilemmas very well. I get confused and try to block them from my mind. Last night with you had been extremely overwhelming for me and I feared that I would become too attached. I also feared that it was something you did in the heat of the moment and that you would want to forget about it. Today Irene was, for me, a sort of cover. The reason I appeared to be so comfortable with kissing her was because you showed me how. I have avoided caring for others for so long I didn't know what do to, and now I understand that it was a ridiculous thing to do and I apologise for hurting you."

"Wait so...you _do _remember?"

"I do."

"You-" John resisted the urge to yell and swear and make that bruise on his face a hell of a lot worse, "Sherlock Holmes, you are, an absolute cock! Come here-"

He strode over to Sherlock and kissed him hard. It wasn't soft and delicate anymore, it was angry and messy and all over the place, and it was just as amazing. Sherlock guided them both on to the bed, where they fell, John on top of him. Sherlock was making little moans that were very arousing, and John lost all self control. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. He had seen glimpses of his body throughout their time together, and every time he had ached to see more. Well now he could, now he could touch it and it was his.

He began yanking the shirt down Sherlock's arms, and then pulled the sleeves off his wrists. Sherlock's breathing was fast and heavy as he then began doing the same to John, who had to wriggle to help him out a bit.

"J- John," Sherlock gasped, when they finally ceased their hungry snogging, "I- I'm not very, good, at this sort of thing-"

"Shh," John whispered, "you're doing brilliantly. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can stop-"

"No, no," he sounded desperate, which was so cute and made John want him even more, "I'm fine, just, tell me if I'm doing it wrong."

"Oh, you really aren't."

John moved his hands slowly down Sherlock's abdomen, feeling the smooth dents created by his muscles, feeling how his body quivered beneath him. His fingers finally found the button on Sherlock's jeans, and he undid it carefully with one hand. The adrenaline and arousal built up inside him as he felt the bulge beneath the fabric, and began yanking them down a little too hard.

"You okay?" he asked, sensing how nervous Sherlock was.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just not- used to-"

"I know, I know. Don't worry, hey it's not like I'm the most experienced person in the world, I've never been with a boy before."

"Well to confirm you are in fact very good at it."

Sherlock bridged his hips in to the air a little to help John shimmy his jeans off, and before he knew it Sherlock was underneath him wearing nothing but his navy blue briefs. John paused to admire him, sudden realisation that this was actually happening washing over him. Sherlock frowned and John kissed him hard before he could begin to worry.

* * *

Sooner or later both boys were completely naked on Sherlock's bed, erections clashing as John ran his fingers through Sherlock's messy curls, tugging at them slightly. John slowly planted kisses on Sherlock's neck, sucking at the skin slightly, then moved lower down to his heaving chest and continued to get lower. Sherlock's eyes widened as John's lips moved closer and closer to his cock.

"It's okay," John said softly, "you're doing great, don't be scared."

He ran his tongue over the length of Sherlock's cock, and heard him gasp at the contact. Not wanting to wait any longer, he closed his lips around the head and began to suck. It was bliss. Feeling the warm weight on his tongue, squeezing Sherlock's hips as they bucked and hearing him moan. It wasn't awkward in the slightest, when he was with that boy, the chemistry was perfect and it felt so right.

* * *

Sherlock and John lay panting on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Well," John began, "that was-"

"Good-"

"Very good, yeah."

There was a pause before both of them burst out laughing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sherlock's POV. I'll be changing up the POVs occasionally but I'll mention when I do. :D**

**Chapter 13**

Sherlock woke suddenly the next morning; there was something jabbing him in the leg repeatedly. He groggily swung his shoulders round to see John, fast asleep, writhing around and kicking him. Sherlock could tell from the little moans he was making and the pained expression on his face that he was having a nightmare. Sherlock's bed was far too narrow for this to continue, he was bound to kick him on to the floor any second now. He checked his phone that sat on the floor beside the bed. It was 5 o'clock in the morning. John surely wouldn't mind being woken up at this hour, after all, he was having a nightmare.

Sherlock mimicked what John always did when waking him, and shook his arm gently, saying his name repeatedly in a soft voice. This apparently was not the correct thing to do when someone was mid-nightmare. John sat bolt upright with a gasp, headbutting Sherlock hard in the nose as he did so. Both boys yelped in pain and John looked as though he was about to have a heart attack.

"Sh- Sherlock? What the- hell- are you doing!?"

Sherlock's nose was throbbing and his eyes were watering- so much for that being kind thing.

"Sorry, you were um, having a bad dream and thrashing around. I thought I should wake you."

"Oh..was I? Sorry, I guess I woke you up?"

"..A little."

"Sorry, Sherlock. Oh, and sorry for headbutting you in the face."

"It's fine. I suppose sleeping in a single bed wasn't our greatest idea."

"No, guess not.."

John's breathing was still very heavy. Sherlock never knew what to do in these types of situations. If it were him, John would be comforting him, most likely getting him water and a cold flannel. He was amazing like that.

"Are you alright?" was the best Sherlock could do, "do you need anything?"

"Hmm? No, no I'm fine. Sorry."

"Stop apologising, idiot."

John flashed him a smile.

"What time is it?"

"5 o'clock."

"In the morning?!"

"No, John, in the afternoon. We were asleep for 18 hours."

"Shut up.."

John flopped back down on to the pillow and made a little noise of frustration, which Sherlock thought was adorable. He leant over and stroked John's forehead gently with his thumb, gliding over the red mark that appeared when they had collided. The contact made John's eyes flutter open, and he grinned at the sight of the other boy's face inches from his own. Sherlock bent lower and planted a kiss on John's lips softly, making his deep blue eyes widen in surprise.

"Is this the same guy that told me only two days ago that kissing is pointless?"

"Fine, I guess you don't want me to do it anymore-"

Sherlock retreated jokingly, but John grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back down, kissing him harder.

* * *

They decided what they had was, indeed, a relationship. Neither of them were too keen on the idea of telling people, but they weren't going to act cold in public just because some people would get offended. Well, Sherlock wasn't anyway. He was less concerned about people's opinions of him than John was, most likely because he'd been insulted or beat up basically every day of his school life. John was still fairly new, and had never been 'bullied' before. Sherlock was very aware of how cruel some of the students were at the school, so he decided to try his best to keep it a secret, for John's sake.

Breakfast was an interesting affair, Greg somehow managed to figure it out. He had been exchanging looks with John constantly before congratulating Sherlock on finally 'pulling'. It only escalated from there. Philip knew, Molly knew, Sally knew, and all of them had told their friends. It was odd how gossip could spread like wildfire. Within the next two days, practically the whole school was aware that he and John were an item. Now, on top of the regular insults, (freak, weirdo, kill yourself etc,) he was now receiving homophobic abuse. This was fairly easy to handle when John was at his side, but it was becoming difficult to deal with the quantity of fresh insults he was getting thrown at him constantly.

Still, the week continued, and Sherlock was fairly certain that the new gossip would die down. The abuse would never disappear completely, but the concept would bore people eventually. Well, that was what he thought.

* * *

It was Thursday night and Sherlock was walking back up to his dormitory. He had just spent the last three hours in his hiding place, smoking and training himself to block out the comments that were now becoming overwhelming. He used his key to gain access in and out of the building as per usual, and was walking down the English corridor when heard laughing coming from the boys toilets.

Sherlock began to quicken his pace as the door opened. He heard footsteps but didn't turn around.

"Sherlock!" a teasing voice yelled. Sherlock recognised the voice immediately as Sebastian Moran. He froze and span round. Sebastian and a few of his friends were walking towards him. His mind went in to panic mode. He didn't know why, but whenever he was in this situation, (and he had been quite often in the past,) he never ran. He was probably faster than all of them, but he felt it was too cowardly. Yes, he did get beat up and went down without a fight every time, but that was because he saw no point in attempting to take on 5 boys who were all much bigger than him. Jim Moriarty was never among them, as close as he was to Sebastian.

Sherlock was backing away instinctively, but it was really no use. He knew it.

"Heard about you and Watson. I've gotta say, Sherlock, no one's really surprised. Personally, I always thought you were a fag- guess this is the final proof. Where is he, may I ask?"

"Why?"

"Well, we might pay him a visit, you know. Say hi."

Standing a little taller, he glared at them.

"He's back at the dorm. Which is locked, and where he is surrounded by other people that would hear if you tried anything."

"Ah..shame. Oh well, looks like it's just you then."

If only he had been able to walk for 5 more minutes, then he would be close enough for people to hear him being dragged in to the toilets. The two that were the strongest (after Seb) were holding Sherlock's arms as he was forced on to his knees.

"Oi, give that here a sec," the boy to his left said, holding out his hand to one of the slightly scrawnier guys. The smaller boy handed him the cigarette he was smoking, and Sherlock knew what was about to happen. The grip on his arm was tight as his sleeve was lifted up, and without hesitation, the lit cigarette was plunged in to his skin. The pain was much worse than being punched or cut. Controlling his scream was extremely difficult, even though he had always been very good at concealing pain.

"Ooh, bet that's gonna scar, mate," Seb said with a sadistic grin. Sherlock then didn't know which blow was from who. He was being kicked and punched from all angles, yelping in pain but making no attempt to stop them. It went on for quite some time, but ceased when Sherlock's text alert went off.

"Let's have a look then.." Seb reached in to his pocket and extracted his phone, "yep, it's from lover boy. Wondering where you are. Aww, bless. Bet he's not gonna be too happy about this, but oh well, he's the only one stupid enough to think you don't deserve it," he dropped Sherlock's phone on to the floor beside him, where he was curled up and clutching his stomach in pain, "it's been a pleasure, Holmes."

And with that the five of them left the toilets, leaving Sherlock on the cold floor, blood pouring from his nose and vicious bruises all over.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Sherlock closed his eyes and rested for a while. The cold floor of the toilets felt pleasant, pressed against his battered face. He breathed deeply, trying to compose himself enough to stand, but no matter how many times he told himself to get up, his body wouldn't allow it. The phone that was lying next to him on the ground was vibrating like crazy. He opened a blearly eye to see that he had 6 missed calls and 5 texts from John. He groaned before forcing his arm to move and grabbed the phone. It required a lot of effort to prop himself up on to his elbows. The pain in his head shifted like water as he moved, and his whole body felt extremely heavy. He opened the texts from John:

Where are you? JW

I don't mind, just let me know when you're coming back. JW

Sherlock, it's been two hours now. Please just tell me. JW

For God's sake, answer your bloody phone! JW

I'll get a teacher if you don't answer me in the next 10 minutes. No joke. JW

The last one had been sent 5 minutes ago; he still had some time. As he was texting back, the phone rang, and John's name appeared on the screen. Shit. He had to answer. He cleared his throat and mentally shook himself, trying to push away the pain that still throbbed all over his body.

"Hello?" he answered in a gruff, shaky voice. He cleared his throat again and tried to steady his breathing. It was a difficult thing to do considering he had just been winded.

"Why weren't you answering your phone?! For God's sake it's been hours!"

Sherlock staggered and gripped on to the sink for support. It was in that moment that he caught a glimpse of his face. Swollen eye that would turn black. Cut and bleeding lip. Wonky, bloody nose that was probably broken. Among the larger injuries were traces of mud and small cuts where the boys' shoes had collided with his face.

It was a weird thing, looking at himself. Any normal person would probably be crying at this point. They would have given up and would be a sobbing mess feeling sorry for themselves. But Sherlock felt oddly..okay. The pain was still there, but it was subsiding. He should have been bothered by the fact that he looked like shit, and that John was going to flip out and everyone else would laugh at him. But he couldn't care less.

While experiencing this realisation, John was still yelling down the phone.

"Mm God sorry-"

"You can't just disappear for-"

"-calm down! I had my phone on silent. I'm sorry."

"You're a bloody idiot. Where are you?"

Sherlock hesitated, "walking back now. I'll be 5 minutes."

John sighed, "Kay, sure. See you in a minute then," and with that, he hung up the phone.

Sherlock frantically splashed water on his face, rubbing the blood away roughly and wincing when he came in to contact with his nose. Patting his face dry on his dirty, creased shirt, he inspected his reflection one last time. There were still traces of dry blood and his skin was red in the areas where he had rubbed too hard. The bridge of his nose was still bent at a funny angle, and his eye was still puffy, but other than that nothing _really_ looked too bad.

* * *

He walked as fast as his aching limbs would move him down the corridor, and groaned slightly when he was forced to walk up a flight of stairs. Upon arriving at the door of 221B, he took a deep breath, hoping that the lighting was dull enough to disguise some of the damage. John would definitely notice, and there was no point in trying to hide it from him. He just had to suck it up and reject everything John had to say.

"Sherlock?" an angry voice called from the bathroom when the door was closed.

"Yes, hi. Um..I'm sorry. I should have let you know what was happening."

"Yeah, you should have, just, remember in future to-"

John had stepped out of the bathroom and stopped talking with a horrified expression when he looked at Sherlock, who merely blinked before staring down at his feet. Suddenly John was walking towards him, so sudden in fact that it made him flinch. Before Sherlock could say anything, John's hand was on his back, pushing him in to the bathroom.

"John- it's fine-"

"Shut up," he snapped. John sat him down on the bath without saying a word, and tilted his chin up roughly to get a better look at his face. Silently, he got a flannel and wet it with warm water, then began wiping it over Sherlock's face, removing any traces of blood or dirt. He then moved on to the mess that was his nose. He prodded it gently, causing Sherlock to wince in pain.

"Yeah, that's broken. I can't do anything about it, you'll need to see the school nurse-"

"-I am not telling her what happened-"

"-you don't have to. Just go to her and get it fixed," he said sternly, but his face immediately softened, "how's the rest of you looking?" he asked in a much more gentle tone.

"I will get a few bruises but nothing serious."

"Right," John pulled a tube out of the bathroom cabinet, "this'll help. Come here."

As opposed to pushing him, John took Sherlock's hand with a sad smile on his face, before leading him in to the bedroom. The two of them sat down on his bed, and John gave him a reassuring look before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock allowed his shirt to be removed without protest as John moved behind him on his knees. Sherlock hadn't seen his body but he supposed it looked rather bad as it achieved an audible gasp from John.

"John, you don't have to-"

"Shh," he whispered quietly, before planting soft kisses on Sherlock's shoulder, and nuzzling his face in the dip between his shoulder and neck, still kissing the skin there.

John would kiss every place where he hurt, every place they had kicked and punched him, before gently applying a cream that would relieve the pain. Sherlock kept his eyes closed the entire time, feeling the pain go away and the slight tingle John's lips left on his skin. He hadn't even realised that John didn't have a shirt on either, until he was facing him, cupping his cheek.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" John mumured, and Sherlock shook his head in reply, "okay, that's fine," he breathed, leaning in to Sherlock and kissing him. If John hadn't been here, if they had never met, Sherlock probably would be one of the people crying, feeling sorry for themselves and wanting it all to end. But John was here, with him, and it was a blessing.

After a session of comforting kisses, John fell asleep, with Sherlock wrapped in his arms like a teddy bear. Smiling to himself, he closed his eyes, allowing sleep to come over him.


End file.
